


the lines get blurred

by heretowinbitch



Series: we may never work,  but my god are we good at pretending [5]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heretowinbitch/pseuds/heretowinbitch
Summary: anonymous said: you do angst really well. Which is why I was wondering if you can write about Beth talking to rio about her past( her mom/depression episode) and Rios talks about his past too. Maybe they hiding out somewhere after a deal gone wrong?heflinchesat her touch,  and she doesn't have time to unpack it because he's saying her name in that dangerous tone."elizabeth —"   it's a familiar warning by now,  but she's not having it.   "no,let go,  this is ridiculous.  you can't see what you're doing,  i can.  let mehelpyou."   he glares at her over his shoulder for a long time,  but she stands her ground,  and eventually he releases his grip on the shirt,  rolling his other shoulder before letting his arm fall to his side.   still,  even giving in,  he can't let her have the last word,  so  —    "yeah,  i'm not real big on your particular brand ofhelp."  and it's bitter,  she thinks maybe the most honestly bitter thing he's said to her since... well,since.





	the lines get blurred

**Author's Note:**

> this story takes place in the same timeline as [sic transit gloria](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015966/chapters/45158827) but well after, and it's not necessary to read before this one, just know it's post S2 and beth has opened a bakery ( that's legit but also a front ). i do recommend reading [sinking like a stone in the sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103548) first, though, because that's the first time rio hears about her mom and her depression.

“ain’t no way to spend your teenage years,  you know.”

there’s something almost wistful about the way he says it,  and she scowls.  he’s one of those   _high school was the best time of my life_   people,  probably,  and beth can’t stomach that kind of nonsense right now.

“yeah,  well.  it’s not like i really had a choice at the time.”

there must be something in her voice as she says it  —  a bitter edge she'd failed to stifle  —  because he peers at her over his shoulder.   but the look in his eye isn't what she expects,  it's something that she thinks borders on respect,  despite the exceedingly complicated shit that sits between them these days.  beth tries to ignore the way it kicks up old feelings with a vengeance  —  letting them swirl around her ribcage like a painful reminder  —  and goes back to the task at hand.

it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

she was supposed to be working on her legitimate business,  not falling back into things with his,  not falling back into things with  _him_.   she most certainly is not supposed to be hiding out in some tiny studio apartment on the far end of jefferson with a damp rag held firmly against his bleeding shoulder and prattling on about her childhood. 

that last part has been mostly to calm her own nerves,  though,  and not really about his comfort.  her hands had started trembling the moment he’d pulled his shirt off and she’d had to face the aftermath of what she’d done to him all those months ago.  he’d caught it,  of course,  because he’s always been infuriatingly perceptive about what’s going on in her head,  in her heart,  in her body.  mercifully,  he hadn’t said a word,  and the relief that rolled off of her had been palpable,  because she really had no idea how to deal with talking about   _that_   on top of their current situation.

“i think it turned out okay,”   she murmurs from her spot behind him,  wringing out the rag in the bathtub behind her before pressing it against the wound again.

there’s a long pause,  and she can feel more than hear his breathing  —  acutely aware of the way her legs frame his body,  and the warmth of him so close and so familiar that it  _hurts_ ,  but she can't think about that right now.  she thinks that’ll be the end of it and they’ll return to tense silence for the foreseeable future. 

instead,  he surprises her with  -  “yeah,  better than most,  probably.”

she holds onto a private smile at that.

 

* * *

 

_three days ago_

 

“i’m sorry  -  what ?”   beth is incredulous as she stares at him from over the counter,  every inch of her coiled up in tight tense knots.  this isn’t the first time he’s visited since his sudden  _resurrection_ ,  but it’s the first time he’s come to talk business,  and beth isn’t interested.

she hadn’t been interested when he walked in and simply existed – a dark and menacing presence – until the place cleared out and it was just the two of them.

she hadn’t been interested when he locked the door and flipped the open sign to closed before turning to look the place over,  as if he’d never seen it before  ( he had,  she knows he had,   _now_   she knows that bottle of bourbon hadn't been a figment of her imagination ).

she hadn’t been interested when he stood in front of the display counter,  letting it serve as a barrier between them  ( one that maybe they were both in need of ),  hands folded in front of him,  shoulders rolling.

she certainly hadn’t been interested when he told her she was going to do a job with him,  no questions asked.

“what – you need your ears checked?  i said we have a job,  i’mma pick you up at three friday.”   it’s not just the words,  it’s the way he says them  —  that cold,  calm indifference that surrounded every interaction they’d had once upon a time.  and once upon a time,  beth had made peace with that coldness between them.  but that had been before things got complicated,  before he'd wormed his way under her skin and in her pants and  ( well,  maybe she'd wormed her way into   _his_ ,  but the details aren't important at the moment )  he has every right to hold so much  _contempt_   for her,  beth simply hadn’t realized how jarring it would feel to be staring it in the face.

“no,  i heard you.”   she huffs,  busying herself with cleaning out the back of the case just so she can be doing something with her hands,  just so she doesn’t have to make eye contact.  “i just thought we were  _done_.”

the sharp bark of laughter draws her gaze,  and he still wears that cold expression,  but now it’s laced with cruel amusement,  and somehow that’s worse.  his eyes are pinning her,  like he still can't figure her out after all of this time,  but he doesn't offer any words  —  at first  —  and she stares at him,  waiting.

“nah,  darlin’,  i’m thinkin’ we got business until i say we’re done  —  you  **owe**  me.”

and she can’t argue with that,  not after she’d put three bullets in his chest and left him for dead.  the thought makes her sick,  and beth can already feel the familiar cold sweat prick at the back of her neck,  the water rising and threatening to pull her under again,  to drown her in her own deeds.   _not now_ ,  she tells herself,  willing her body to cooperate.  she goes back to wiping away the crumbs from the case,  hoping at least he won’t catch the way what little color she normally has begins to drain from her skin at the recollection of that night.

“yeah,  so anyway.  friday.”

it's spoken with an edge of finality,  and then he’s gone,  and she has to run to make it to the bathroom in time to throw up. 

she doesn’t flip the sign back over, or unlock the door.

 

* * *

 

 

_two days ago_

 

“uh,  what  _kind_   of business?”   ruby is looking like she’s about to chain beth to a chair just to keep her from going anywhere with rio at this point,  and beth can’t really blame her  —  since his reappearance  ( since her realization that she was  _not_ ,  in fact,  going crazy )  beth had essentially just been  _waiting_   for the day he'd decide to finish her off.   because that’s what it comes down to,  really,  she’d shot him three times  —   _three times_   —  and while the whole thing had been haunting her since the night it happened,  he'd somehow survived it,  and the fact that she’s still standing has to have more to do with him just biding his time than anything else.

sometimes she thinks she’s almost made peace with it.

she sighs.  “i really don’t know,  he said no questions asked.”  ruby gives her a dramatically suspicious look and beth’s calm breaks,  her hands thrown up in a half shrug before they flap back to her sides,  voice climbing an octave in part-hysterics as she speaks again.  “what do you want me to  _do_?  i mean i  _shot_   him,  ruby.  why didn’t he kill me the moment he returned?   i must be useful to him for  _something_   —  maybe if i do this,  he never will.”    she trails off toward the end,  all fight seeming to go out of her,  and beth knows without even looking at her best friend’s face that this theory is very probably not what’s going to happen.  still,  something tells her refusing him would really put the very permanent end to their working relationship on the fast track.

“i just  —  i need you to cover the shop for me this weekend,  okay?”   there must be something about the look on her face,  because she watches ruby open her mouth as if to protest again,  but she closes it with a deep frown a moment later,  and nods.  “you know i always got your back,  b.  just promise you’ll be careful.”

beth has to swallow down some emotion,  but she manages a nod in response.

 

* * *

 

 

_one day ago_

 

“i’m sorry,  you’re doing  _what_?”   it’s shockingly similar to the question beth had asked rio when he’d posed the whole situation to her in the first place  (  _posed the situation_   being an exaggeration considering she doesn't have  _any idea_   what the situation is,  or what to expect,  but still ),  and beth rolls her eyes before shooting an accusatory glance at ruby.  for her part,  ruby just raises her hands in a motion of surrender,  silently conveying that beth should have known better than to expect her to keep the whole thing a secret from annie. 

“okay,  i know it’s risky –“   she doesn’t get any further before annie is interrupting.   “risky?   nah,  it’s a straight up  _death_   _wish_.  what were you  _thinking_?”    her voice is raising with almost every syllable,  and beth holds out her hands,  palms to the floor and pressing down in the air a little to accompany her sharp  _shh_  because,  really,  the kids are sleeping,  and the last thing she needs is for them to wake up to this little outburst.  

“i was  _thinking_ ,”   beth starts in a much quieter tone,  like she’s somehow the voice of reason in all of this.  “that maybe if i help him with whatever this job is,  he might not kill me.”   there’s a wry sort of sarcasm that wraps around the false brightness of her tone,  and annie looks almost taken aback by the whole thing before she apparently remembers herself. 

“ _or_   —  he’s taking you out of town to finish the job in some discreet way,  and you’re just gonna,  like,  get in his car willingly?” 

beth sighs again,  running her hands over her face and leaning on the island counter.  she feels suddenly  _exhausted_ ,  like the stress of everything is finally weighing on her enough to drag her under,  she refuses to drown with it.  “yeah,  i guess that’s a possibility.”   the words are muffled through her fingers,  and the  _i guess_   is really just hyperbole because beth had already considered it,  already knows that could be  _exactly_   what she’s walking into.  the problem is,  if rio wants to kill her,  he doesn’t need to pick her up and take her somewhere  —  he knows her schedule,  knows where she lives,  where she works,  where she spends her free time.  if he wanted to just take her out,  he’d probably be best doing so out back of the store,  make it look like a mugging gone wrong.

it would be the cleanest way,  and yes she has thought this through countless times since his return.

she straightens,  shrugging.  “if he wants to kill me,  there are other ways that don’t require my cooperation.  i think going with him tomorrow is probably a guarantee that he  _won’t_   kill me.”   this is met with dubious looks from both annie and ruby,  and beth purses her lips,  amending after a moment  —  “well,  at least not  _tomorrow_.” 

neither of them look convinced,  but apparently decide to drop it anyway,  and after gathering their glasses,  a backup bottle of wine,  and the bowl of popcorn,  all three make their way into the living room to watch real housewives.

  

* * *

 

 

“that what you’re wearin’?”    there’s an unreadable look on his face as he looks her over when she climbs into the passenger seat of his car but beth barely notices it  —  too busy trying her damnedest not to think about the last time she’d sat in this same space,  the way he’d written her off as nothing more than  _work_ ,  the way something in her chest ached and shattered from the admission,  or the way that pain had started a chain reaction of destruction from which she might never recover.

she blinks at him,  then glances down at her outfit.  it’s nothing out of the ordinary  —  a light blue sweater,  pair of jeans,  and her brown ankle boots.   “what else would i wear?”   she thinks there’s a flash of amusement in his eyes as he notes her indignation,  but it’s gone in a moment.

“i dunno,  just lookin' like a soccer mom,  is all.”    he turns back to look out the windshield,  and beth gapes at his profile,  feeling like she's suddenly having a conversation with one of her children,  because this is  _ridiculous_.   “in case you forgot,  i  _am_   a soccer mom.”   now he actually laughs,  and she’s a little bit taken aback by the sound,  so prepared for open hatred and unbridled anger,  not expecting this easy tease that speaks of simpler times. 

she stares,  he sobers,  nodding.

“right,  my bad.  just figured  —  you know.”    his expression is flat now,  but she can still hear it in his voice,  that edge that makes it clear that he’s barely containing his laughter.  and it’s such a departure from what beth had expected to face during this little business outing of theirs,   but it's also so reminiscent of  _before_ ,  and it gets all bunched up in her throat for a minute  —  confusion,  fear,   _longing_    —  but she finally settles on  **frustration**.   “no,  i  _don’t_   know,  because you didn’t  _tell me_  anything about what’s going on tonight,  just said i had to come with you  —  no questions asked  —  so how am i supposed to know how to  _dress_   for the occasion?”

his jaw rocks back,  and beth watches as he blows out what’s probably supposed to be a calming breath,  realizing that maybe she’s pushing it,  treading a little too heavily over thin ice,  and she snaps her mouth shut before anything else can come out of it.  arms folded over her chest,  she sits back against the seat as he pulls away from the curb,  amusement seemingly replaced with the same dangerous tension that has existed between them since his return.  of course the days when he would work to get under her skin,  enjoying the rise he got out of her,  and they’d bicker or share harmless banter,  and it would be  _easy_   —  those days are long gone,  put to rest with three bullets.

they drive in silence for a long while,  until the tension seems to dissipate slightly,  but never quite makes its way to comfortable.

“got a new contact.  just a little meet n’ greet.”

this offering of information doesn’t quite seem like the end of the story,  so beth just turns slightly in her seat,  waiting for more.  his tone is casual,  but she can see the tension that stretches across the line of his jaw,  and through the fingers that grip the steering wheel.   she can also  _feel_  it  —  the way that other shoe is hovering above her head,  waiting for him to release his grip on the laces so it can  _drop_.   of course,  when it  _does_ ,  she’s understandably shocked. 

“you gonna take care of it.”

he must be able to see her expression out of the corner of his eye,  because he turns to look at her for a moment,  and for once,  he doesn’t look smug or amused or even indifferent.  she thinks,  through her own surprise and the thousand questions that are suddenly pushing their way to the front of her mind,  that he looks  _concerned_.  still,  he lets her wrap her mind around it in silence,  doesn’t offer more than she’s ready to digest,  and turns back to focus on his driving.

“what do you mean,   _i’m_   going to take care of it?”    her voice is quiet,  no boss bitch living in her tone these days,  and to her surprise he doesn’t make a comment about her trouble hearing again,  just sighs quietly.   “lotta people still think i’m dead.    it’s better that way.”

 _of course_. 

she doesn’t really know why she hadn’t thought of it before.   the times they’ve seen each other since his return have been few and far between,  always in strategic moments and always for very brief periods of time.  he’s had a pretty pointed lack of goons following him around,  and he’s been extremely tight lipped about his latest business dealings.  of course,  beth had assumed that last part had been more due to a lack of trust  ( understandably so,  considering their last encounter ).  but the fact that he’s laying low to perpetuate the story of his death makes sense in a strategic way.

she just hadn’t thought that would mean she’d be brought back into the fold like this.

swiftly,  unbidden,  and not for the first time,  her thoughts go to marcus,  and beth wonders if he knows his dad is okay.  it's not the kind of question to which she thinks she deserves an answer,  however,  and so she tucks it away for another time,  refocusing on her reaction to his words.  she's moving quickly from surprise to panic,  with anger waiting in the wings.  because,  really,  even if this just came up a few days ago when he first mentioned it to her,  that means he could have had three days to prepare her for it,  or at least  _warn_   her.  she could've had three days to figure out how to play it,  to ready herself.  instead,  now she's going into a meeting blind,  with no clue what kind of business he means to do with these people,  no clue how to handle a meeting like this,  and no clue what the stakes are if she screws it up. 

“i don’t – i mean – what am i going to  _say_?”    

again,  he surprises her with his patience.   "you thinkin' too much.  it's just gonna be a quick meet,  we ain't talkin' product tonight,  just makin' intros.  demon's gonna do the talking."    her eyes are probably comically wide,  she figures,  when he turns to gauge her response and the corner of his mouth tugs up ever so slightly.   "relax.  i'm just the driver tonight,"   he pauses,  turns away,  and again says  —  "better that way."    and beth wonders if that's because demon would sooner kill her than sit with her in a car for over an hour,  figures probably,  maybe all of rio's guys are out for her blood,  and can she really blame them?

"and what if they don't want to do business with a mother from the suburbs?" 

he laughs lowly at that,  but says nothing else.  and part of her is thankful for that,  for not having more to try and process.  because the car begins to slow and it's too soon and she's not prepared and the panic is bubbling up again,  using her ribcage as a ladder as it climbs its way up and into her throat,  threatening to choke her.   to her shock,  he puts a steadying palm against her thigh and her head snaps up to meet his eyes as they pull into a parking spot.   "you got this,"    he says quietly,  and with a nod of his head.   and she   _doesn't_ ,  she  _knows_  she doesn't,  because this is the first time he's touched her in a way that wasn't meant to be threatening or a warning or something worse since he'd revealed himself,  and beth isn't sure what to do with all of the confusion that weaves its way under her skin. 

there's no time to think about that,  though,  and she has to bite down a scream when someone taps at her window. 

beth watches the cold,  hard mask as it slides across rio's eyes,  his hand moving from her quickly to rest along the center console,  the other pressing the button to roll down her window.  demon is standing there expectantly,  and while he doesn't look outwardly hostile,  she can see the hatred that sits just behind his eyes.  beth swallows down her panic,  and takes a deep breath. 

"know what you gotta do?"    he asks demon  —  probably for her benefit,  beth thinks  —  who replies with a quick nod,  and she realizes she's never even heard him  _speak_  before.  now he's going to be doing all the talking.  she chews on her lip,  and she can feel rio's eyes on her,  turns to look at him,  and he'd been waiting for that,  apparently,  before  —  "he's doin' the talking but you the boss,  got it?"   he fixes her with a stare that wills her to understand,  silently requests that she doesn't launch into a bunch of questions,  that she just  _get it_. 

and she does,  she  _gets it_.   understands that for appearances only,  tonight,  she's the boss,  and demon is  _her_   guy.   she killed the king,  so she's the king now,  that's what's expected,  that's how it all  **works**. 

there are still a hundred questions in her head  —   how is she supposed to go into a meeting she knows nothing about,  with people she knows nothing about,  and portray any sense of confidence?  how is she supposed to play  _boss_   with new players when she hasn't had her hands in the business since she.. since..  she swallows down a memory that threatens to break her before she begins.   

but maybe she can just stand there,  wearing that mask she's learned to wear and recreate with every hardship she's endured since childhood.  maybe she doesn't have to  _do_   anything specific,  or  _be_   anything specific,  maybe she just has to  **be**. 

she nods slowly,  and he's nodding along with her,  tongue pressing into the corner of his mouth as though he's still mulling it over.  "aight,  go be a boss bitch."   and it's almost affectionate,  but she knows it's not,  knows this is all a role they're playing together,  and  —  once it's over  —  he might not have any further use for her. 

beth chokes down her apprehension,  opens the door,  and steps out of the car.

 

* * *

 

they walk through an alley and to the opposite end of the block,  which makes sense because rio can't be seen,  so they have to appear to have arrived together and without him.   

the walk  — short as it is  —  does little to calm her nerves,   and demon's silence isn't helping either.   

"so,  i'm just going to stand there?"   she asks in a surprisingly steady voice,  and he does no more than grunt his assent as they approach a building that looks completely dark,  possibly condemned  —  with boarded up windows and a piece of plywood in front of the door.   beth thinks maybe it's a warehouse,  or  _was_   a warehouse,  but she's never been here before,  doesn't know what they're walking into.   

she approaches the door,  and demon holds a hand out to stop her,  stepping in front of her and looking over his shoulder with a glare that says she's  _already_  at risk of screwing things up just by  _walking_ ,  and beth shrinks back a little sheepishly,  which doesn't soften his expression.   he waits  —  the same way rio had in the car,  as if letting her prepare herself  —  and beth wonders if they'd decided to treat her with kid gloves,  make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. 

beth realizes she's holding her breath,  lets it out in a slow sigh,  and makes an effort to regulate everything from her heartbeat to her breathing.  she straightens her spine,  standing taller,  squares her shoulders,  and fixes a mask of cool indifference over her face.  something flashes in his eyes that she thinks might even say that he's  _impressed_  with the speed in which her whole demeanor has shifted,  but he says nothing,  simply pushes open the makeshift door with a nod. 

inside,  it's not as dark as outward appearances had made it seem,  but it's still dimly lit by lighting that seems to have seen better days  —  most of the overheads burnt out with only a few bulbs casting a soft glow.   it provides and eerie sort of effect,   shadows dancing across the floor as one of the bulbs flickers a little,  and beth has to keep her breathing steady so as not to allow the panic to seep in once more. 

she doesn't see anyone else until they've approached the far wall,  and there are four people waiting  —   three men,  guns at the ready,  and an older woman with long black hair plaited down her shoulder leaning against a pillar just a couple of steps behind them.  demon doesn't say anything,  but beth immediately notices the way he tenses,  and she wants to ask him what's wrong  — because something about this scene is not what he'd expected,  not what he'd been prepared for  — but he glances at her with the tiniest shake of his head,  and she reverts into her persona,  ready  ( somewhat )  to play the game. 

"mia,"   he says once they're close enough  — but still at a safe distance  — and beth has to keep her face impassive to hide her surprise at the smooth-as-honey voice that comes out of his mouth,  a stark contrast to his rough appearance and demeanor.    "thought it was just gonna be you and your boy tonight."     beth wishes this wasn't the first time she's heard him speak,  because she can't tell by his voice if she should be particularly worried about the doubled numbers that appear before them,  and maybe his tension is normal for a meeting like this,  so she's stuck tamping down her panic beneath the surface,  keeping that calm mask in place.  

the woman  — mia  — laughs quietly,   and it's an almost comforting sound,  like she's just a kindly woman about to offer them tea and cookies.  this illusion is quickly dissolved by the men flanking her,  however.

"oh,  well,  these two get lonely if they don't get to come along every once in a while,  you understand."   the way demon shifts from one foot to another,  jaw clenching,  tells beth he doesn't understand at all,  or maybe this is a bold-faced lie,  but either way,  she's pretty sure it doesn't bode well for the outcome of this meeting.  

mia pushes off of the pillar,   eyes still kind,  lips still pulled into a soft smile,   and her boys follow closely as she approaches the place where beth and demon stand.

"this is the lady who took rio out?"   her gaze sweeps over beth dubiously,  as if she can't possibly fathom how a woman like her might take down someone like rio.   _easy-peasy_ ,  a traitorous,  terrible voice says in the back of beth's head,   _just have to get close enough that they don't expect it_.   she hates the thought,  hates that it comes unbidden at a time like this,  hates that she can feel it all coming back in a wave of despair that threatens to drown her,  one she shouldn't still feel when she knows rio is alive and well  — that he's just down the block  —   when she didn't really kill him,  she  _didn't_. 

it creeps up on her nonetheless,  and she realizes too late that she's trembling.  she can feel demon glaring at her out of the corner of his eye,  and beth knows she's not keeping it together as well as she should be,  knows it even more when mia steps closer.  

"that's a load of shit,  she doesn't have it in her."   

a year ago,  she would have been right.  but now,  now that beth knows what it feels like  — the gun in her hand,  the trigger beneath her finger,  the sight and sound and smell of the gunshot  —   _now_   is when beth appears weakest.

she wants to open her mouth to speak,  make some quip about being tougher than she looks,  hold out a hand and tell mia what a pleasure it is to meet her,  to do business with her.   but she's not supposed to be doing any talking,  and her throat is too dry to allow for it anyway,  and something tells beth that doing business with  _mia_   wouldn't be a pleasure at all. 

"thing is — "    mia speaks,  and her men seem to tighten their holds on their respective weapons,  almost as if on cue.  demon is supposed to be doing the talking,  but he's just glaring at the man closest to him,  and beth thinks he's probably trying to figure out if he can reach for his own gun and take him out before this sticky situation gets even stickier.   but that still leaves two other men with guns,  and beth suspects mia didn't come unarmed,  either.   she's mentally cursing herself for not asking for a weapon,  for not having bought her own back when annie had suggested it,  and she's so busy scolding herself that beth almost misses the fact that mia is still talking.   " — word is,  he ain't dead after all."

beth thinks she does a commendable job of keeping her eyes fixed on mia,  not looking to demon with a silent plea of  _what do we do_ ,  but before she can even   _think_ ,  there's a commotion from behind her,  and she's caught between wanting to look,  and not wanting to turn her back on three armed men.   as she hears the shuffling of feet,  something tells her she knows what she'll find,  anyway,  and her fears are confirmed within moments.

"shoulda known you'd play dirty."   rio's voice echoes from behind her in a casual tone,  and beth breathes a tiny sigh of relief.   whether it's that or his words that amuse her,  mia laughs again.  "and i should have known you wouldn't let some white bitch in a jc penny sweater take you down."   the cruelty in her tone now is at such odds with the kindness that had lived there before,  that beth's eyes widen at the sound,  eliciting another laugh from the older woman.

she can feel rio beside her before he enters her sight,  and every ounce of relief that had found its way through her body at his arrival fades into panic when she does see him,  and the gun held against his head,  the hand holding it,  and a fourth thug connected to it.  she feels like her boots have been suddenly filled with cement,  her limbs rendered useless,  her body unwilling to respond to any commands.   the grip of fear is all powerful in that moment,  and beth is certain  —   without a shadow of a doubt  —  that this is the place where her story ends. 

if possible,  demon tenses even more.

"oh she tried,  did a damn good job of it,  too."   he sounds amused,  in that nonchalant way that infuriates beth when he's using it against her,  when he's laughing  _at her_.   but mia looks equally amused,  as if they're just two old friends sharing a joke,  or a story about old times.  beth is suddenly wildly curious about how they know each other  —  this isn't so much a new contact,  like he'd said,  there's familiarity there,  which makes her even more confused about being sent in as the  **boss**.  is this some sort of  _trap_  ?  are they in it together?   the gun against his head seems to squash that theory before it gains any traction,  but beth's confusion is only mounting.   

these thoughts are cut off abruptly when rio speaks again,  because  —  "guess you could say i had a guardian angel."    he chuckles darkly,  and a tendril of fear begins to unfurl at the back of beth's neck,  trying to worm its way down her spine as she realizes what that must mean  —  understanding dawning on her and growing like an impossible weight in her stomach  —  asks herself why she never put it together,  asks herself what this means for  _her_. 

of course,  she might not have to worry about that for much longer,  if the tone of this little  _meet and greet_   is any indication.

"well aren't you the lucky one,"  mia asks without really asking  —   sounding unconvinced about the luck factor altogether  —   and beth can feel the tension rolling between them like a wave,  just trying to decide which one it might crash over.   "the problem is,"  the woman continues,  and her men take deliberate steps closer,  each one pointing a gun at rio,  beth,  and demon respectively,  with rio now having two on him,  since the one at his head hasn't moved.  "i don't appreciate being  _lied_   to."

beth has yet to speak a word,  but she risks a glance at rio who looks unbelievably calm on the outside,  which might be comforting if it wasn't for the fact that she knows him well enough by now to notice the way his jaw ticks,  the way his muscles are tense,  and she thinks  —   though doesn't stare long enough to confirm  —   his hands are clenched in his hoodie pocket.  

"ah,  you know how it is,  mia.  gotta play the advantage.  right now the people in this room are the only ones who know im still breathin',  i'm thinkin' i wanna keep it that way a little longer."

even though his tone remains jovial,  beth can hear the threat that slips into his words,  and by the hard stare mia fixes at him,  she's no stranger to it either.  

they are obviously outnumbered,  even if rio still has his gun  —  which she's almost certain the goon behind him had relieved him of before marching him in after them  —   he won't be able to grab it before one of the two pointed at him go off.  demon undoubtedly has one,  but maybe he takes out one of the guys,  and that still leaves three more.  and beth  —  well,   she's just a sitting duck. 

mia's smile softens infinitesimally as she stares up at rio,  and for a moment,  beth thinks she sees something akin to affection behind her eyes.  it fades as quickly as it had appeared.

"you know what,  rio,  i think maybe we can make that happen for you."

it happens so fast that she barely has time to register the movement. 

one moment,  beth is standing between demon and rio,  feeling the fear grip her in its unrelenting grasp as their combined tension surrounds her. 

the next,  she's being pushed to the ground  —   _hard_   —  something solid falling on top of her,  forcing the air out of her lungs,  and gunshots are ringing in her ears creating a near constant din of sound, making it impossible to determine what's going on around her. 

"can you run?"

the voice in her ear seems so quiet,  but so familiar,  and she realizes the force on top of her is rio,  and he had pushed them out of the firefight moments before it began.  beth tries to turn her head but his hand is at her jaw,  gripping harshly,  and she realizes he's shouting,  despite the soft way it sounds.   "don't look.  can you run?"    he grits out the question against her ear and she barely manages a nod before the weight is lifted from her,  and he's hauling her to her feet none too gently,  beth vaguely noting she'll have bruises once this is over  —  if she makes it out alive.  

the first thing she does once on her feet is disobey his  _don't look_   command  —  and it's a mistake.

there's blood pooling on the floor where they'd been standing just moments before,  a crumpled body laying still and lifeless and suddenly she can't   _breathe_.  shots are still being fired,  and beth doesn't have a chance to figure out who the blood belongs to,  because rio is dragging her with a hand under her arm,  his grip rough and demanding,  and beth focuses all her effort on making her legs work so she can try and match the pace he  _wants_   to keep.  she hears more than feels something fly past her ear,  and swallows down a scream,  as they duck into a hallway and keep running. 

the muscles in her legs are protesting fiercely by the time they emerge from the building  —   through a different door than the one she and demon had used to enter  —   but despite the relief that pours through her the moment the cold air hits her skin,  there's no time to appreciate it,  because they still have to run to the car.   her feet hurt,  the boots not meant for more than fashion,  and every bit of her is shaking from something much different than the chill in the air.

it feels like forever when they finally get to the car,  and rio all but shoves her into the passenger seat,  barely waiting for her to get in before peeling away from the curb. 

his hand presses between her shoulders.  "get down  —   put your head between your legs."   she obliges,  even though it sounds like he's talking through a wind tunnel,  and she realizes her left ear is ringing like crazy.   she can't spare a moment to worry about that,  though,  so she squeezes her eyes shut and wraps her arms beneath her knees as if to hold herself in place.  more shots fire behind them,  somewhere glass shatters,  and she understands that his demand had not been to quell the growing nausea that had threatened her,  but to avoid any bullets that come their way.  she only realizes she's been sobbing when she feels the tears roll through her knees and into her hands,  and beth makes a concerted effort to breathe normally,  finding it easier than expected once all she can see is the darkness behind her closed lids.  

it takes a while before she notes that rio's erratic driving has mellowed into something still fast,  but somewhat normal,  and at the same time she registers it,  he speaks again.  "we're good."

his tone says that can't be further from the truth,  but beth doesn't press the issue as she unfolds herself from her position,  groaning as her body reacts to the relaxation of her muscles.  relaxation,  might be a strong word,  though,  since she's still trembling from head to toe,  and rio places a hand over hers where they're clenched together on her lap,  pulling her attention to him.  "you ok?"  he's not looking at her,  but his tension seems to unwind slightly when she nods.  then his hand is gone from hers,  and she misses the warmth immediately,  only distracted by the absence of it when he reaches to brush his fingers against her ear,  eliciting a sharp inhale from beth when it sends a spark of pain through her.

his fingers come away blood-stained,  and beth's eyes go wide,  her hand flying up to where he'd just been touching.

"just a graze,  you'll be aight."  again,  he speaks with that casual tone,  but she can sense anything but beneath the surface.

"i'm sorry,"   she murmurs after a long pause,  and his head turns sharply to look at her,  brows furrowed.  "don't be,  this ain't on you."

beth wants to argue that it's all on her,  that none of this would be happening if not for what she'd done,  but she can't find the words,  doesn't think she'd be able to speak them even if she could,  so she drops her hand back to her lap,  focusing on the streak of red that stains it now.  her hands have been stained for a lot longer than this,  she thinks,  perhaps a little melodramatically,  and chokes back another sob.  with her other hand,  she presses her finger against her palm,  smearing the blood,  and sighs,  turning to fix her gaze somewhere outside of the car as they drive. 

it's only then that she realizes she doesn't recognize the neighborhood,  and that they should have been at least back toward her side of the city by now.  a new sense of alarm shoots through her,  followed by a wave of dread.

"aren't you taking me home?"   his jaw rocks back and forth,  and he peers over at her for a moment that feels unending,  before he sighs,  shaking his head.   "you can't go home right now,  elizabeth.  not 'til i figure out who's been spillin' my secrets."   she gapes at him,  panicking.   "it wasn't  _me_ ,  i have to go home."    and he laughs dryly,  rolling his eyes.   "'course it wasn't you,  you don't know shit."

oh,  she thinks.  and then  _oh_.

"you think  —   whoever it was  —   you think they'd come after  _me_  ?"   it's her turn to be incredulous,  because beth knows her death is probably already on the books for sometime in the not-too-distant future.  so what good would it do rio's enemies to go after her?  this time,  he doesn't look at her,  but she can see the way he's chewing on an answer,  not sure how much he should give  —   not sure how much he's willing to give.   in the end,  it's not much.

"i think they wanna make waves,  and i think we both oughta be scarce when they come callin',  yeah?"   she doesn't respond to that,  because  _yeah_ ,  she'd rather not be targeted by a rival gang,  or whatever this was.   _competition_.   

"kids with your husband?"   he asks quietly,  in a flat tone.   "ex,"   she corrects,  and he scoffs.   "and yeah,  his parents have a cabin up near muskegon,  they're all there for the next four days."    he hums at that,  nodding,  and she's still not feeling extremely comfortable with the whole  _not going home_   thing.  but now she's thinking about marcus again,  and wondering if these people know to go after  _rio's_   family,  but she can't ask because that'll open it up to more questions sitting just behind her lips like  _does your son know you're alive_ ,  and  _what does he think happened to you_ ,  and other uncomfortable topics brought on with her mishandling of a situation in his loft so many months before.  instead of those,  she goes with  —  "are you going to tell me where you're taking me?"

"we're layin' low for a bit.  i got a place."

it's said with that same edge of finality that tells beth she's not going to get anything more out of him until they get there,  and so she settles back against the seat,  and closes her eyes.

 

* * *

 

the car has stopped and it's dark when she opens her eyes again,  the clock on the dash reporting that it's after seven.  beth has no idea how long they were in that warehouse,  how long the drive had been,  or how long they've been sitting in this parking lot,  but when she risks a glance at the drivers side of the car,  she has to bite back a gasp at the sight of rio beside her.  his features are drawn,  in stark contrast with the wild anger that sparks in his eyes,  seemingly ready to burn anything it comes into contact with.  being that she's the closest thing to him right now,  beth would rather not be caught in that fire. 

"is this it?"  she asks cautiously,   the exhaustion still hanging on every word.  "the place?"

it doesn't look like much  —  an unmarked building in a dark corner of who-knows-where  ( because by now beth is pretty sure they're not in detroit anymore ).   the exterior is dark brick,  and they are parked against the back wall,  not a door in sight.

"yeah,  just makin' sure we don't got a tail."   his voice is soft,  but there's a thread of quiet rage that weaves through it,  and beth can only nod.   she's not feeling particularly comfortable being stuck in this...  whatever it is  —  safe house?  —  with him barely hanging on to his anger,  not when she might be the most worthy of being on the receiving end of it.   but for some reason,  he thinks she's a target,  and she doesn't want to be  _alone_ ,  either.   

belatedly,  beth's mind goes to demon,  and her eyes pop wide as she turns toward rio again,  remembering the body,  the pool of blood  —   "demon?"   she chokes out the question because it's all that she can manage,  and for the first time since she's opened her eyes,  he moves,  dragging a hand down his face.   "it wasn't him,"   he says on a sigh that cues her own in relief,  but he's shaking his head.  "i ain't heard from him since we left."  her hand comes up to her mouth to stifle a cry.  demon hadn't liked her,  but that doesn't mean she'd wish him  _dead_.   maybe he made it out,  maybe he lost his phone somewhere in the scuffle,  maybe it'll all work out.  

 _phone_   —  where's hers?   she hasn't seen it since she got out of the car and let demon walk her to the warehouse,  and starts digging through her pockets,  twisting around the seat to look in the back in case it had fallen.  as if sensing what's on her mind  —  like he somehow always manages to do  —  rio pats his pocket.  "you don't need it."   she opens her mouth to protest,   about to tell him that she needs to check on her kids,  that he can't just take her somewhere and shut her off from the world  —  she has a family that will be worried about her,  she needs to check  _in_.  "elizabeth —"   he says before she gets even a word out,  and there's a warning in his eyes that maybe she would heed if not for her current panic.  but before she can give him the piece of her mind that's working its way to her tongue,  he shifts and she sees it for the first time  —

"whose blood is that?"

she thinks maybe it's not his  —  that maybe it had gotten on his shirt and that might explain the way it's staining the leather of the seat behind him.  but there's something in his eyes that tells her they can't be that lucky.  still,  he doesn't wince,  or complain,  or seem bothered at all when he responds.   "oh,  it's mine,  darlin'  —  what,  you already forgot what it looks like?"   that cruel amusement is back,  but she doesn't give it time to make her feel uncomfortable,  already reaching for the handle of her door to get out when he presses the button that enables the automatic locks.  her head whips back to stare at him in alarm.  "what are we doing sitting in the car? we have to take care of it!"

something changes  —  it's so slight,  so quick,  but she catches it  —  the briefest moment of surprise in his eyes before he masks it again,  tilts his head to look at her in that way as though he's trying to piece her together.   "i told you,  we makin' sure nobody's on our heels."   he's watching her with open curiosity,  trying to figure out how she's going to react to this,  and when she huffs out a breath of frustration,  he has the gall to  _laugh_.

"relax,  i'm fine.  been drivin' for over an hour and i ain't dead yet."   there's a dry twist to his words,  and beth continues staring at him as he stares back,  both of them issuing a silent challenge.  he breaks first,  and her relief is overshadowed by the thought that maybe he's lost too much blood and he's just too tired to argue.  "two more minutes,  yeah?  then we go in."   it seems reasonable enough,  so she nods,  eyes never leaving him even as he turns to keep glancing between the mirrors. 

they're the longest two minutes beth has ever experienced,  and by the time he unlocks the doors,  she rushes around to offer her help,  and he brushes her off like an annoying insect that won't stop buzzing around.  she barely spares a glance at the blood left behind on the seat as he gets up,  but it doesn't look so bad,  if she's being honest.  it's the state of his back that makes her heart leap into her throat  —  his shirt stiff with blood that's been seeping into the fabric,  obvious despite the already dark color of the shirt.  at some point  —  probably while she'd been asleep  —  he'd grabbed another shirt from somewhere and must have wedged it between his shoulder and the seat.  he's holding it now  —  awkwardly  —  against the wound as he leads them toward the building,  and beth has to clench her hands into fists to resist the urge to take over the job of applying pressure for him.  but he's walking too fast,  and she'd just slow him down.  once they get inside,  however,  he won't be able to avoid her.

 

* * *

 

after seeing the way he lived  —  his apartment,  the organization,  the expensive items  —  beth can admit  ( to herself,  at least )  that whatever she'd expected when rio told her he had  _a place_ ,  had not been  _this_. 

 _the place_   could barely be called a room  —  more like a small brick box with a couch that's seen better days,  a television that looks to have been around longer than beth herself,  and an accordion door that she can only assume leads to a bathroom.  there are no windows,  only the one door that they'd used to enter after taking a metal elevator that required a key for access.  a  _safe house_ ,  that's what it is,  and beth would have a hundred questions about that  —  how long has he had it,  has he had to use it before,  how safe  _is it really_?  —  if not for the wound that's currently being unveiled before her eyes as he peels the bunched up shirt away from his shoulder.  as he works it,  the fabric tries to hold fast to his skin,  and she can see as it tugs,  pulling at the blood that's dried and encouraging it to flow anew.  he doesn't wince or suck in a breath the way she'd expect from something that so obviously causes him pain,  but beth barely registers what she's doing before grabbing the cloth from his hands. 

he  _flinches_   at her touch,  and she doesn't have time to unpack it because he's saying her name in that dangerous tone.

"elizabeth —"  it's a familiar warning by now,  but she's not having it.  "no,   _let go_ ,  this is ridiculous.  you can't see what you're doing,  i can.  let me  _help_   you."   he glares at her over his shoulder for a long time,  but she stands her ground,  and eventually he releases his grip on the shirt,  rolling his other shoulder before letting his arm fall to his side.   still,  even giving in,  he can't let her have the last word,  so  —  "yeah,  i'm not real big on your particular brand of  _help_."  and it's bitter,  she thinks maybe the most honestly bitter thing he's said to her since... well,   _since_.   but she ignores it,  gently nudging him toward the suspected bathroom.

it's a little bigger than she'd expected,  truth be told,  a typical bath and shower combo with a curtain that has probably been there for ages.  she shoves it aside with her free hand,  keeping the pressure on his shoulder with the other,  before turning the tap so that the water starts pouring out hot enough to steam the small room. 

"rags?"  he nods toward the little cabinet mounted over the toilet and she reaches for it,  pulling out a small white washcloth.  her nose crinkles at the sight of it,  knowing it'll be ruined by the time this is over.  "it ain't the end of the world,  i can afford new rags."   his voice pulls her back to the situation,  and beth has to ignore the way just him  _knowing_   her,  still,  and so well makes her feel exposed and raw,  the guilt returning in full force to eat away at her.  he's looking at her from over his shoulder,  considering something,  and she can't hold his gaze so she says the first thing that comes to mind  —  the wrong thing.  "you need to take off your shirt."

he chuckles at that,  lowly,  and beth knows that if she glances up to meet his gaze again,  she'll be met with that lewd expression that always managed to fill her with frustration and desire in equal measure.  she doesn't want that,  not now,  and is entirely certain he's just messing with her anyway,  even when he opens his mouth to respond.   "if you wanted me naked,  you could've just  _asked_."  

with a groan,  she leans over the tub to wet the washcloth,  bringing it up to press against the skin just under the bunched up t-shirt they've been using to staunch the blood.  with a few maneuvers,  she coaxes the matted cloth away from his skin,  and drops it in the tub.  the wound begins to bleed a little bit,  but it doesn't look so bad,  and she skirts around him to allow room for the removal of his shirt.   she's still avoiding his gaze,  seeing his movements out of the corner of her eye,  but can feel him watching her.  she clears her throat.   

"do you have a first aid kit here?"   she has to look up at him for the answer,  because he's not speaking,  and the sight pulls the air from her lungs as though the wind had been knocked out of her.   

he's everything she remembers,  with one  ( well,  three )  exceptions  —  his formerly smooth skin is now marred with three scars that seem to glint under the light in the bathroom,  glaring at her,  accusing her.   her mouth goes dry,  and she has to bite down hard on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering.   he catches it  —  beth knows he does,  can see it in his eyes as though he's been waiting for this moment  —  but he doesn't say anything,  no instant quip about what she'd done to him,  no cruel amusement at the way it so obviously affects her,  no cold bitterness as beth takes in the proof of her actions in his now marred skin,  imperfect because of  _her_.   instead,  he reaches around her to the medicine cabinet  —  too close for comfort but placed their by necessity since beth has seemingly forgotten how to move  —  pulling out a small kit and holding it out to her.

"sit,"  she commands when she's confident enough to speak again,  filling her voice with all of the authority granted a mother who's patched up her fair share of scraped knees and the like.  this is a little different,  except the patient is equally childish.  he huffs at her before sliding down to the floor in front of the bathtub,  his back pressing against it. 

beth stares at him for a moment,  and he stares back up at her,  eyes wide and filled with something unreadable.  she hates that,  she really does  —  the way he seems to read her like a book whose pages are always spread open for him,  her chapters printed on her skin for easy reading,   but he's always such an enigma,  like as soon as she thinks she's figured something out,  there's a new chapter that contradicts everything she thought she knew.   

he looks so small,  suddenly  (  and not just because he's sitting on the floor ),  and something in her heart aches before her eyes focus on a trail of blood that crawls down from his shoulder,  and she has to snap out of it.

clearing her throat again,  she puts a hand on his good shoulder,  urging him forward a bit so that she can sit behind him on the edge of the tub.  he obliges without a word,  and beth is grateful that  —  at least for  _now_   —  she can focus on what she's doing.  she dips the washcloth in the hot water,  wringing it out before pressing it gently to the wound.  he doesn't make a sound,  but she can feel him tense beneath her fingers as she keeps them braced against his right shoulder,  softly rubbing at the dried blood off of his left.  

she's almost done with the task,  the skin mostly clean,  a trickle of fresh blood continuing to try and slip down his back but being caught by her rag instead.   she's about to reach for the first aid kit that sits beside her on the edge of the tub when he speaks for the first time since they sat down. 

"i need you to get the bullet."

his voice is strained as he says it,  like he's bracing himself for her reaction,  and beth can do little more than gape at the back of his head while she tries to make sense of what he's saying.  "what?  no.  i  —  i can't do that.  i'm not  —  i can't."

"i need you to,"  he says again with endless patience,  and somehow saying  _i need you to_   rather than  _you have to_   hits her differently.  like he's a little embarrassed to admit that he can't do it himself,  like the fact that he's asking this of her pains him,  like he doesn't want to put this in her hands but has no other choice.   he reaches back for the kit,  pops it open and pulls out a pair of tweezers wrapped in plastic like they've come off of some cart of sterilized tools in a hospital.  he holds it back,  waiting for her to grab it from his hand.

and the thing is,  her mind is starting to wrap around it,  to make sense of it  —  there's no exit wound,  risk of internal bleeding,  they can't go to a hospital,  they can't leave the bullet in there  —  but that doesn't make the prospect of digging it out of his shoulder any easier to stomach,  and beth's hand is trembling as she reaches for the tweezers,  somehow getting caught in his gaze and feeling overwhelmed by everything all at once.   he nods,  slowly,  and beth takes a deep breath.

 _you can do this_ ,  she tells herself,   _it's not even the first time_.

well,  that's only partially true,  but she lets out a nervous bout of laughter anyway.

"somethin' funny?"

she blows out a breath,  calming her nerves  ( trying to,  at least ).  "i've just done this before,"  she says with a casual tone,  though it's proven otherwise by the slight quaver in her voice,  and he looks back at her again,  brow raised as he waits for her to elaborate.  "yeah,  i mean  —  not a bullet,  but."   she rips into the packaging of the tweezers,  not quite pulling them free,  and he's still turned,  looking at her,  expecting her to continue.  

"annie,"  she clarifies,  one shoulder shrugging.  "she fell from a tree once  —  she was  _always_   climbing,  jumping,  you know,  a little daredevil."  beth is rolling her eyes as she recounts the tale,  and rio has at least turned to face forward again,  nodding along.  without his eyes on her,  she feels a little more comfortable,  and shifts so that her knees are bent along his sides,  and  —  ever helpful  —  he slings his arms over them,  as if to brace himself.  she tries her best not to let the warmth of him soak through her jeans,  into her skin,  and make her feel anything more than the nurse with the patient role she needs to be focused on.  

"anyway,  so she fell from the tree right into a bunch of gravel,  and one of the rocks got embedded in her leg."  she pulls the rag back from the wound,  dropping it behind her in the tub so that she can wring out the blood and have it ready for more.  the bullet isn't deep,  but the skin around it is angry and red,  and she knows it's going to hurt no matter what she does.  "i don't suppose you have any booze in here?"   

he chuckles a little,  and shakes his head.  "nah,  better keep your head straight for this,  ma,  it ain't gonna be pretty."

beth lets out an exasperated sigh,  nudging his side with her knee.  "i mean for  _you_ ,  idiot."    his head whips around to catch her gaze over his shoulder again,  and she merely raises a brow in silent challenge.  apparently he thinks better of threatening her while she's holding a pair of tweezers next to an open wound,  and sighs before turning back.  "nah,  don't keep any here.  should be disinfectant in the kit though."  and that's not what she'd meant,  either,  but beth pulls out a wipe and dutifully cleans the area around the wound,  eliciting the first hiss of pain from his lips.

"so what happened?"  he asks after a while,  the strain in his voice evident,  and it takes beth a minute to realize he's talking about the story.

"oh.  well,  it was in there pretty good,  i was surprised she didn't break her leg with how hard she must have landed,  you know?"   he sort of hums,  but she's getting to the point where she can't really put off the main event,  and beth's hands are sort of steady now,  talking seeming to distract her nerves.   she exhales,  left hand holding onto his shoulder joint while her right brings the tweezers close.  her voice shakes again.  "she wasn't even afraid,  barely cried,  just sat there with her leg dangling over the kitchen sink while i pulled it out."   inhale,  and she presses the tip of them into the wound,  fingers tightening over his shoulder as his body tenses reflexively,  and she freezes before he nods his head slightly.  "it bled like crazy,  and of course  _she_   was fascinated,  while i panicked,  trying to make sure not to get any on the floor."   she's trying to get traction on the bullet,  but it's proving difficult,  and somehow he isn't squirming or groaning in pain or flinching.  she can feel his right arm flexing and for a moment beth thinks he's going to grab hold of her leg for support,  but he doesn't,  and she continues.  

"how 'bout your mama?"   he asks in a quiet voice once beth thinks she's finally got a hold of the bullet,  and she stops,  blinking up at the back of his head.  "what do you mean?"

"i mean  —  where was she?  why you have to take care of your kid sister's injury?  why not your mom,  or a doctor?"

 _oh_.  metal holds onto metal,  and her breath catches.   "yank it out.  real fast,  you got this.  tell me 'bout your mama."

"she  —  uh,"   beth clears her throat,  watching as just the pressure on the bullet allows blood to escape around it,  and she silently reminds herself that there's no one else here,  no one that can do it,  and he  _needs her_.  it's not enough,  it's not amends,  but if she can do something,  she has to try.  "she wasn't really around much."

"oh?"  she knows he's doing this for her benefit,  knows it's just to keep her mind from fraying at the edges,  unraveling around the task at hand,  but she's already frazzled,  and her hand starts to shake again.   "c'mon,  elizabeth,  tell me what you mean."

she swallows,  nodding,  but her voice is anything but steady when she continues.  "when my dad left,  she,  um,  she left too  —  sorta.  i mean,  she just kind of,  um,  stopped getting out of bed one day,  so it was all on me."    _you put it all on me,  so it's never on you_.   it's creeping up on her again with the memories,  the water chilling her to the bone,  threatening to drown her.  he's right here  —  living,  breathing,  warm against her  —   but the water doesn't care,  it just wants her to drown.  she counts,  eyes closed,  hand steady.  a silent  _one,  two,  three_ ,  and then she pulls straight back,  the bullet coming free from the wound,  held firmly between the tweezers,  and he groans quietly in response to the pain at the same moment as beth releases a held breath.   

"good,"  he breathes,  and she can hear the strain of it,  but he almost seems impressed,  too.  it's difficult to focus on that,  though,  because she's staring at the mangled bullet held in the tweezers' grasp,  mesmerized by the amount of damage such a small thing can do to a person.  and she's thrown back in time again,  seeing him bleeding on the floor,  leaving him  —   _leaving_.   her chest tightens in that same familiar panic,  that same cold water,  and beth has to breathe through the sharp prick of tears at the corners of her eyes.   "elizabeth?"  he asks quietly,  but there's an edge of impatience,  as if he's been trying to get her attention for a while,  and she glances up to find his eyes on her in that same curious way,  and she wonders if maybe another piece has fit into place before his eyes.  "hm?"   his mouth twitches at the corner,  and he shakes his head ever so slightly.   "i'm bleedin' on you."

her eyes go wide with shock,  which is apparently amusing to him,  if the laugh he gives her is any indication,  and she snaps her gaze back to the wound,  watching the blood flow more freely now that the bullet's out.  she reaches for the rag,  frantically pressing it against his shoulder,  earning her a hiss.  "easy,  darlin',  it's fine,  just  —  gotta sew it up."

 _oh_.  

he's already rummaging through the kit while she makes peace with the next part of her nurse beth routine,  and by the time the bleeding has slowed again,  he has a needle and thread in his hand,  waiting for her to take it.  "aw,  c'mon,  this old hat for you,  right?  bet you make costumes for every play,  sew hats for every baby."   it's not fair,  really,  the way he has her pegged,  and the way it apparently brings him so much pleasure to rile her up about it.  beth licks her lips,  taking the needle and thread in her free hand as he turns to face forward again,  seemingly knowing him watching her face while she works on him is the opposite of helpful ( and probably would lead to a hellish ache in his neck once they're through ).  

"kinda different,  you know  —  sewing skin compared to fabric."   his back quakes with quiet laughter,  and beth just rolls her eyes as she threads the needle.  "what  —  you didn't sew up annie's rock wound?"   beth scoffs,  and her hands are steady enough that she gets the thread in on the first try.   "of course not,  we slapped a barbie band-aid on that sucker and she went right back outside to play."   he laughs again,  and she likes this one  —   the one that means he's laughing with and not  _at_   her.  too often,  she gets the other kind.

she's poised to start the first stitch,  and takes a deep breath.  "okay,  i'm going to start now."   it's something she always did with the kids if they had a splinter or something somewhere not easily seen,  a warning that it's about to hurt so they wouldn't flinch at the contact as she went in to retrieve it.  except,  just as before,  he doesn't move beyond a tensing of his muscles as she presses the needle into his skin.  and  _yeah_ ,  it's different  —  the give of the skin is nothing compared to fabric,  and fabric doesn't bleed when you sew it.  

"how old?"  he asks suddenly,  breaking her from her concentration,  and her nose scrunches up a little because her hands aren't shaking anymore and she doesn't really need the distraction.  "i don't know what you mean?"  because she doesn't,  and her mind rewinds the conversation a bit  —  how old was annie?  how old was she?  how old is the pope?   "how old were you  —  when your parents  _left_  ?"   there's an emphasis on left,  and beth nods a little,  getting it.  "i was just starting my sophomore year."  he nods as she ties off the first stitch and moves to start the second.  "of college?"  this follow up causes her hand to freeze before it makes contact with her skin,  and beth laughs dryly.  "no,  high school."   he tenses,  and there's something in it that she wants to unpack,  but instead focuses on the next stitch.  "and so what  —  you took care of her after that?  no other family to do it?"   beth shakes her head before realizing he can't see the movement,  sighs,  and ties off this stitch,  admiring her work before preparing for another.  "no,  it was just me."

he's silent for a long while,  until she's finished and using the rag to clean off any blood that remains.  

“ain’t no way to spend your teenage years,  you know.”

 

* * *

 

the first aid kit has been put away after the wound had been cleaned,  dried,  and bandaged.  and beth has tidied up the bathroom as best she could  ( despite rio's protests that he was going to have to send someone to clean it up anyway ),  by the time she joins him in the room.

he's half sitting,  half laying on the couch with his eyes closed,  and  —  for a moment  —  beth thinks he's asleep.   of course he ruins that theory before long.  "you gonna stand there staring all night?"

he still doesn't open his eyes,  but beth sighs before dropping down onto the couch beside him.  "i can sleep on the floor,"  she offers after a silence,  figuring the soft,  worn couch will be less likely to irritate his wound.  "it's a pull-out,"  he says with a sigh,  the weight of the day seeming to drag down his words as if even they are too tired to make an effort.  "oh,"  she says with nod.  "you want to get up so we can pull it out?"   he grunts at her,  but opens his eyes finally,  stands up,  and waits for her to do the same.  beth catches the slight wince as he moves,  and pushes him gently aside as she works at figuring out the couch.  it's simple  —  cushions off,  pull the handle,  voila.   he still shakes his head at her,  earning him a shrug.

"you wearin' jeans to bed?"  he asks as he pulls aside the flimsy sheet and climbs under it,  letting it rest just over his lap.  somewhere,  he'd found sweatpants for himself,  but hasn't bothered to put on a fresh shirt.  beth is making every effort to not let her gaze linger,  but he's still the most attractive man she's ever seen  —  no matter what has been ruined between them  —  and the thought of sharing this bed with him makes her stomach twist in knots.  "i wasn't aware this was going to be a slumber party,"  she mutters before kicking off her boots and moving to remove her jewelry.   " —  so i didn't bring a change of clothes."

"ain't nothin' i haven't seen before."  he laughs quietly,  letting his gaze rake down her body slowly.  beth tells herself he's just messing with her,  tells herself that the heat in his eyes is all part of the act.  

she shakes her head,  deliberates for a moment,  and then finally works the buttons of her jeans before tugging them down.  he has a self-satisfied smile on his lips,  but she's doing her best to ignore it. 

once she's settled beside him,  an almost comical amount of room left between them,  and his smirks are getting no more reaction,  he shifts gears.  "how's your ear?"  he lifts a hand like he's going to touch it,  then drops it back against the bed.  she'd cleaned it off and the ringing had faded,  so beth just shrugs.  "i think i got out of this pretty okay,  all things considered."

it seems to sober them both,  and a silence stretches.

beth breaks first.  "who is she?"

he doesn't need her to elaborate or clarify who she's talking about,  and something in him seems to deflate at the question,  though no answers come.  and the thing is,  beth knows she deserves his tight-lipped stance,  but this isn't new,  this is the cornerstone of every business dealing they've had  —  even when they were partners  —  and something about that  _here_ ,  after pulling a bullet from his shoulder,  stitching him up,  and washing his blood from her hands really gets under her skin.

"i know she's not a  _new contact_ ,  or whatever you told me before.  there's obviously some kind of history there,  don't you think you owe me  _answers_  ?"   her gaze finds his,  finds the anger in it,  and beth is almost   _relieved_   to see it.  this,  she can deal with.  this,  she can understand.  it's better than him reverting back to easy teasing and innuendo.  "i don't owe you shit,  elizabeth,  'cept maybe a hole in the head."   it comes out on a growl,  filled with hatred and force and fire.  she doesn't flinch,  isn't afraid,  and maybe that's the problem,  maybe somewhere along the line she'd forgotten what he's capable of.  or maybe somewhere along the line she'd found that he's not capable of the same when it comes to her.  so she stands her ground,  again,  and waits for the fire to burn down to embers again.

when he finally gives her  _something_ ,  beth can tell it costs him,  as though the words are being pulled from his lips by an invisible force and he can't quite put a stop to it.

and nothing about it is what she'd expected.

"mia's my aunt."    her lips part to ask more,  but he shifts,  leaning against the arm of the couch that frames the pull-out mattress,  giving her his attention,  and his expression,  head on.   she can see it clear as day   —   the  _i don't want to talk about this_   that wants to pass his lips,  but stays firm behind his eyes instead.   her lips press together again,  and beth watches him,  fiddling with the edge of the sheet just so she has something to do with her hands.  somehow,  he deems her worthy of more,  and beth just stares in open shock as he continues.   "my uncle,  he's the one who got me into the business,  he and mia,  they practically raised me."   he doesn't break her gaze and it's almost too much,  this honesty,  but she holds onto it.   "when he passed,  i took over.  mia wasn't about it,  thought i was too young,  that i wasn't ready,  that it should be in her hands."   he runs a hand over his face and finally breaks the line between them with a sigh.   "thing is,  word spread that maybe she the one who took him out,  right?  like she tipped someone off,  maybe paid 'em off."   he swallows,  shifting so he's laying against the pillows,  staring up at the popcorn ceiling.  "she ain't got no power,  'cept she's always holed up in this fortress of a house.  can't get to her,  can't even get word to her without one of her guys intercepting it."   

it's quiet for a while before beth realizes he's not about to give her any more than that,  and so she prods carefully.   "so  —  if she thought you were  —"   it's pathetic how she can't even say it,  how the word  _dead_   crowds itself into her throat and makes it hard to breathe,  but beth presses on.   " _out of the picture_ ,   you figured you could lure her out in the open?  thought maybe she'd deal with me because i'm  —  what?  an easy target?"   his eyes travel slowly down from the ceiling,  and there's something in them that she wants to analyze,  but the bottom line  —  reflected clear as day  —  is that she's right.  in this,  she would have just been collateral damage on the way to rio's revenge.   and she can't even fault him for it.   

"right.  i guess i deserve that."

the tears fall without her permission  —  she hadn't even felt them coming   —  and then he's moving,  and her hand is up to stop him,  head shaking.

the thing is,  she has no cause to cry over this,  no reason to feel this gripping sorrow at the loss of his once perceived affection or care for her well-being.  because  —  despite the pretty damning evidence that he might not have had any in the  _first place_ ,  if he  _had_ ,  she kind of shot that to shit  —   literally. 

he doesn't move closer,  or open his mouth to say anything,  even though she can sense he wants to.  there's too much between them that is broken,  soiled,  rotten.  there's too much between them that is irreparable,  more than history,  unforgivable.  beth knows that,  but a part of her  —  up until now  —  had maybe just the inkling of   _hope_.

she'd been a fool from the start,  though,  that should have been clear sooner. 

"why did you tell me that?"   she manages once it doesn't feel like each word is going to pour out in another wave of tears.  

his silence hits her like a wall,  and beth slides down beneath the covers,  turning on her side so that her back is toward him,  and closes her eyes.

it feels like an age has passed before he speaks again,  sleep already attempting to pull her into its grasp,  and in the morning she might not even remember.  but for now,  his voice is quiet and gentle,  a mockery of a time before everything went to shit.    "i told you  —  we ain't all that different,  elizabeth,  even down to the bitches who pretended to raise us."

it's comforting,  in a way,  and she falls asleep easily after the exhaustion  —  both physical and emotional  —  of the day. 

 

* * *

 

 

when she wakes in the middle of the night,  screams chasing visions of a river full of blood and mia's lifeless eyes staring back at her,  she vaguely registers rio wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close until she settles,  whispering soothing words she can't make out through her panic.  beth falls asleep again,  focusing on the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek that sounds like a mantra of  _i'm alive,  i'm alive,  i'm alive_  as it pushes back those waters that always threaten to drown her.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know anything about guns, or gunshot wounds, or stitching up wounds, or any of that so please don't judge me too harshly if i got it wrong.
> 
> this got so long i don't even know what to do with myself, so if you made it all the way to the end then you're the real MVP !!
> 
> comments/questions/prompts always welcome !


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